Bon Temps High
by estrafalaria103
Summary: When the VRA passes, Bon Temps High is suddenly desegregated, for the first time in its history. With vamps, weres, shifters, and witches all under one roof, alliances are formed and friendships tested. Klaine, Brittana, Quick, Finchel, etc.
1. Prologue

Everybody in Bon Temps watched the night of the VRA announcement. Merlotte's was filled to bursting, with all the regular adults, vampires, and witches. Emotions were running high, on both sides of the fence. Extra police had been pulled in from Shreveport, and riots were anticipated. Everybody was glued to the television.

While the adults were all out, gathered together to pray or bitch, depending on whether they wanted the amendment to pass or not, nobody was supervising the teenagers. And, although the adults in town had been intermingling for years, slowly getting used to fangers, fangbangers, _brujos_ and maenads, the teenagers hadn't. They'd been forced into segregated schools, werewolves kept separate from the humans, and vampires attending night school. So it stood to reason that, on the night of the amendment, they maintained that split status.

The vamps were primarily gathered at the Fabrays large mansion. Most of the community was there – Quinn, Santana and Brittany, Sam and Mike. They had the most at stake, and had all arrived in the mansion the minute that the sun went down. They sat together on the couch, hip to hip, so close that they could feel the cold emanating off one another.

Across town, literally, the weres were similarly piled together. Lauren had rigged a computer up to a projector, and they were streaming the news onto the side of Puck's trailer. Karofsky and Azimio had put together a fanger-killer kit, just in case it turned out the amendment passed.

The witches gathered in the basement of the school. Perhaps the most disinterested party, they were curious for curiosity's sake. The television wasn't even on yet, but Tina and Artie had magicked it to turn on at midnight exactly. Mercedes was busily raiding the kitchen, ransacking tots and chicken fingers.

The other supernatural beings were scattered throughout the city, gathered singly or with friends, flicking through channels nervously, uncertain of which side they were on. Rachel brushed her hair, 1,000 strokes exactly, before logging on to myspace to watch it there. Blane was alone in the apartment over the garage, idly picking out melodies on his guitar, as he sat cross-legged on the bed.

And then there were the humans. They watched, almost entirely, in families. The more liberal of them were half excited at the possibility of equality for all, and half terrified at the prospect of going to school with beings that were strong enough to kill them with a glance. Finn wasn't entirely certain how he felt about the Amendment, as Kurt was well aware from the thoughts that kept invading his brain.

_I hear that vampires are super hot. . .but wouldn't it hurt to get your blood sucked? I wonder what blood tastes like. . .I didn't like it when I got that paper cut. . .oh, dip, awesome!_

Kurt hoped that the Amendment did pass. He was sick and tired of going to school with just the weres and witches. The witches, while welcoming were a little. . .off. . .and the weres were nothing more than a group of Neanderthals. He hoped that bringing the vamps in would serve to equalize the power balance in the school.

At midnight the tv flicked on in the basement of the school. Quinn leaned forward, and Mike popped his fangs. Karofsky wrapped his meaty hand around a stake, and Puck began to growl deep in his throat. Finn spilled the dip, and Rachel squeaked.

Nan Flanaghan, the spokesperson for the American Vampire League, walked into the screen, a tiny smile on her face, and the world, and Bon Temps High School instantly changed.


	2. The Schuesters

13:57

Will opens his eyes to the incessant ringing of the home phone. He opens them, and instantly closes them tight again, almost crying out at the pain of the bright sunlight. The windows are covered, light, gauzy strips of material that Emma insists on, despite the fact that they don't actually help with the light. Will hums a little, feeling his chest vibrate.

When he opens his eyes again, its only after turning his head, so that he's staring at silky red hair. It's enough to make him smile a little, to breathe in deeply the scent of strawberry shampoo. He's broken from his reverie when the phone rings again. The hum turns into a muffle groan, and he leans over again, one smooth movement as he pulls his cell phone off the nightstand and clicks it on.

"What?" he snaps, his voice still husky from sleep. There's a bit of a pause on the other line before an accented voice finally responds.

"William? William Schuester?"

"Yes, Figgins, it's me," Will sighs. He swings his legs over the edge of the bed and leans forward, his elbows brushing the tops of his thighs. "What's going on?"

Behind him Emma snorts, a short, almost-surprised sound that perfectly fills the awkward silence on the phone.

"It's started."

Reflexively Will's hands fist in the blankets gathered at his waist. His eyes flicker to the calendar. There are still two weeks until school starts. He knows – they all know – that the first day back will be a disaster. There will be bullying and fights, cliques breaking up and terrified humans skirting the hallways. But it's half a month early and nobody is ready.

"How?"

"The football camp. Coach Beiste just announced the team. It's entirely wolves and vampes."

Will blinks at that. "Finn?"

Finn Hudson is one of those special boys that people flock to. He's a natural leader without any ambition, a charisma that isn't related to his words or actions or looks. He's tall and awkward, eternally good-natured, and he'd been voted Junior Prom King and had been a lock to be this year's captain.

"No," Figgins says. "Not a single human. There was a brawl when the cut list was put up."

Will presses the back of his hand to his forehead, trying to knead away the headache that's already forming behind his eyes. He doesn't understand why he's being called. He's a Spanish teacher, and has less than nothing to do with the football team.

"Talk to her, William," Figgins pleads. "She likes you. She listens to you. We can't have an integrated team and not an integrated football team. The first game is next Friday. We need to have a show of unity."

"I'll talk to her," Will says, hopelessly. "But she won't listen. She's been wanting a national championship for years. If she has a team of vampires and werewolves, she'll be unstoppable."

"Stop her, Will. That's why I called you. Stop her."

Will hangs up the phone and puts it back on the nightstand. It's only seven o'clock, and he leans back. Beside him, Emma rolls onto her side and snuggles into him. She tucks her head under his arm, and presses her small fists against his chest.

"What's wrong?"

"Shannon didn't let any humans on the football team," he says, reaching up and pinching his nose, still trying to relive the pressure.

"Oh," Emma says, her voice low and quiet.

"Why didn't we think of that?" Will groaned. "We spent hours in those desegregation meetings. Why didn't we think of it?"

The door bell rings. Before Will even has the chance to shift, Emma pats his chest back into the bed and murmurs "I'll get it."

For a moment, he considers remaining in bed, considers closing his eyes and enjoy the growing warmth of the sun on his skin. The blankets are still warm from their sleepy bodies. He could just go back to sleep, wake up in a few hours, and handle it then. But he hears the gentle murmur of voices entering in the house, and things won't get any better by waiting. He slowly sits up, stretches languorously, and pads out to the common area of the apartment.

His eyes widen when he sees the young man sitting beside Emma. He searches his mind, trying to remember the boy's name, but it keeps eluding him. He recognizes the kid, though – carefully controlled hair, earnest expression, overly preppy clothes. He's a senior, Will thinks, or maybe a junior. In honors classes, so he's in Sra. Muniz's class, instead of his own.

But the most distinctive feature about the kid is that he's been going to the night school. With his healthy olive complexion, there is absolutely no way that he's a vampire.

"Will," Emma says with a warm smile when he walks in. "Blaine, you remember my husband, Mr. Schuester."

"Hi, Mr. Schue," Blaine says with an easy familiarity. Will just blinks, and makes his way over to the fridge. He pulls out the orange juice, pouring himself a glass while he continues to listen to his wife's conversation with the youth.

"Are you sure?" she asks. There's a mumbled response that Will can't quite hear. The smooth, citrusy taste of the orange juice soothes his throat, and makes his head hurt a little less.

"All right. You'll watch out for him, won't you? I'll do what I can, but. . .you did well to come to me. But don't talk to anyone else, all right, Blaine? The less people who know, the better."

Another mumbled sentence.

"And. . .you be careful, too, all right? I know what happened at your last school. Take care of yourself before you worry about other people."

Will is waiting for his toast to pop up when he hears the door click shut again. He catches the toast as it pops up, and turns to face his wife.

"What was that?" he asks idly.

"Nothing," Emma says with a gentle smile. "He heard about the football situation. He was just worried."

"He doesn't look like a football player," Will mentions idly. He won't push her – they have an agreement, Emma and him, and he won't be the one to ruin it. Their relationship, so tenuous for so long, is finally comfortable and easy, and he refuses to be the one to ruin that. He hopes that she'll tell him, but if she doesn't he'll accept it. She walks over and fills a glass with orange juice.

"He's not," she says with a smile. "But he's a big fan." She takes a delicate sip of her juice, and Will wonders, not for the first time, how she can make even a simple drink of orange juice look so cute.

"So what will you be doing today?" he asks. They both know what he'll be doing – heading over to the football pracice, and taking Shannon Beiste out for a lunch. Emma frowns, and begins munching on a carrot.

"I think I'll be going over to the Hummels," she says. "I want to see that Finn is doing all right by myself. And check on Kurt. He's going to have a rough year coming up."

"Kurt?" Will asks, frowning. "Kurt is fine. He doesn't care about football. And it's not like he's a were. . .the vampires won't bother him."

Emma stares at him, that discerning look that always makes him feel like he's three feet tall. He wilts a little under it, wondering what he did wrong this time.

"Will, Kurt was bullied horribly last year."

"Yeah, but that's over," Will points out. "Between Dave Karofsky starting the Bully Whips and the fact that the Glee club made it to Regionals. . .he'll be fine."

That look again.

"You always look for the best in everyone," Emma says, and Will is even more confused. He's accustomed to Emma giving him compliments, but right now she's giving him the look that implies that he's messed up. "That's a beautiful quality, Will. But sometimes it means that you miss out on things that are right underneath your own nose."

Will knows and understands what she's not saying: that, with vampires coming, and interspecies fighting, this is _not_ the ear to see the best in people. Now he needs, more than ever, to accept people for the way they really are.

**A/N: Wah-wah-wah.**

**COMING SOON: A new kid chats it up with Kurt, Finn struggles with being kicked off the football team, and Rachel decides to scope out the competition.**


	3. Football

13:57

Kurt sighs and repositions himself on the incredibly uncomfortable metal frame of the Bon Temps High bleachers. The sun is absolutely blazing overhead, and if Finn and his dad don't finish their meeting up soon, he's going to have to retreat to the shade. His spf is only strong enough for one hour, and there's no way he's going to risk a sunburn, even for his stepbrother.

He pulls his hat a little further forward on his head, and pushes the glasses further up his nose. Below him, one half of the new football team is running around. Kurt tries to push down the niggling sense of fear in his belly. He recognizes all of the boys down there – most of them were on the football team last year, which meant that he got up close and personal with them whenever they tried to throw him into a dumpster or hurl an ice cold slushie at his face. Yeah, he knew them.

Still, things are supposed to be better this year. Puck joined Glee club, and instantly demanded that the weres leave Kurt alone. That hadn't stopped Karofsky or Azimio, not until the very end of the year when Karofsky had abruptly ceased his hateful attacks. He'd cornered Kurt after school, the very last day, and promised that junior year would be less. . .eventful.

Of course, that had all been before the Vampire Rights Amendment passed through the Senate and was signed into law by the President.

Now, though. . .well, things don't seem so equal. Finn, last year's star quarterback, has been cut in favor of some upstart vampire. In fact, every single human has been cut. Normally, Kurt wouldn't care less about who was and wasn't on the football team. But Finn is his brother, and it's blatant injustice that he's been cut. It's racism, is what it is.

So now he's out here, in the brutally hot sun, spying on this year's team. There's no much to spy on, however, with the vamps still underground for the day. It's all the same boys. . .Puck, Azimio, Karofsky, Marcus. . .nothing new.

_Fuck, it's so fucking hot. Shit. I was gonna stop fucking swearing so much. Dammit!_

_ Don't see why we're practicing without a quarterback. What on earth was Coach thinking, cutting Hudson?_

_ I miss the cheerleaders_.

Kurt rolls his eyes, and is just preparing to leave when a new figure wanders onto the field, drawing Kurt's eyes and interest.

He's never seen this kid before, which is saying something, because Bon Temps isn't exactly big city living. He knows everyone he's been going to school with, but this kid. . .he's never seen him.

He's a little on the short side, with dark hair carefully parted to one side. Kurt can't make out many facial features, not as far away as he can, but he sees the thick eyebrows, and glint of sparkle from eyes even yards away. And oh, he definitely, _definitely_ sees that tight ass.

Curious, he plunges forward, deliberately seeking out the boys' thoughts, something he normally tries to refrain from, not only because it seems so unfair but also because, quite frankly, he rarely hears anything worth knowing.

But this boy. . .his thoughts aren't like other people. There aren't cogent thoughts or even jumble of words. There's just. . .the smell of grass, crisp and clear, just the tiniest bit bitter. A single droplet of sweat, dangling tantalizing just behind his ear. The gentle thud of cleats biting into the loamy earth. A flash of pain, and fear, and a sense of determination. There are senses and emotions, everything immensely clear and yet. . .and yet not.

Kurt frowns. Maybe the boy knows how to block him, or has some kind of a trick. He pushes a little further.

There's a flash of memory, all in black and white, fuzzy like an old movie. Shoved to the ground, shouts of _fag_ and _buttlicker_ and _freak_ and _monster_ and _what the fuck are you_ and _demon_ and _vamp_ and

It's too much, so he pulls back. It's as though the boy has jumbled a thousand memories into one, massive ball of hate and pain. Kurt realizes that he's trembling, feeling a little cold despite the oppressive heat of the sun.

And then someone sits down next to him.

Which is also all kinds of weird. Kurt's a bit of a social pariah at Bon Temps. The weres hate him, the witches are annoyed that he won't join their coven, and the humans are afraid of catching the gay. Which means that it has literally been years since somebody not in his family or not in Glee club has sat down beside him. He turns to face the mystery person.

And, just to contribute to the weirdness of the day, it's another unfamiliar face. Unfamiliar, but not unwelcome, Kurt notes. The guy is. . .different looking. . .than most people around Ohio. He's tall and thin, and dressed like a total hipster, which Kurt can respect, while simultaneously disdaining the style. Still, the pink shirt, black suspenders, and skintight jeans are daring, and Kurt will always acknowledge a fellow fashion risk-taker. He has high cheekbones and absolutely _haunting_ deep set eyes. Kurt tries really hard not to lick his lips.

On the down-side: the stranger has dreadlocks. Actual, disgusting, matted together, dirty as sin dreadlocks. Which is pretty much the biggest turn-off ever.

"Hey," the stranger says. "You a football fan?"

Okay, his voice is throaty, with a strange inflection. Maybe, Kurt thinks, he can get over the dreadlocks.

"No," Kurt says with a laugh. "I mean. . .hardly. My brother is the quarterback. Well. . .used to be the quarterback. He sent me to spy on the team."

"Hmm," the stranger says. He continues to look at the field, that intense stare still on his face. Abruptly, he sticks a hand out in Kurt's direction. "I'm Travis," he says.

"Kurt."

They continue to watch the field for several moments. Rather, Travis continues to watch, while Kurt continues to surreptitiously glance at the mysterious boy next to him. There's an. . .aura around him, but his thoughts are strangely clouded and contained. Kurt can't keep the frown off his face. His entire life, reading thoughts has been as natural as breathing, and now in one day there are two people throwing him off his game.

He can't decide if he hates it, or absolutely loves it.

"Who's that guy?" Travis asks, breaking the silence. Kurt follows the direction of his gaze, and notices that he's staring at the new guy.

"I don't know," Kurt says honestly. "I've never seen him before."

Travis grunts. "He's kind of small to play football, isn't he?"

Kurt frowns, and glances at him again. He is kind of small. . .in fact, he looks like an actual dwarf compared to all of the weres on the field. And, if Kurt is sure of one thing, it's that the newcomer isn't a werewolf – none of their accompanying grunts and growls were present in his thoughts. He begins to wonder how Finn – 6'6" Finn, who's played football his entire life and actually _enjoys_ spending time in the gym – managed to be cut from the team, while this short, scrawny new kid is wearing a team practice jersey.

He directs his attention back to the field, ignoring Travis for the first time since the kid came to sit. He keeps his eyes mostly on the new kid.

He's _good_. Like, really, _really_ good. He's not all that fast – no faster than any of the weres, and definitely slower than the vampires will be. And he definitely isn't stronger than the weres – any time one manages to get a meaty hand on him he crashes to the ground like a sack of potatoes. He also hops up again, springy as a pogo stick, and dashes back to the scrimmage line with a frightening enthusiasm. And the thing is, he doesn't get caught often. Even though he's not faster or stronger, he seems to have an innate knack for sensing the other players. He can get through holes in the defense better than most, and he twists his body in surprising ways, evading tackles by hopping to the left abruptly, twisting to the right, or just vaulting over them, one hand on a shoulder and legs flying.

It's somehow incredibly beautiful, like watching a ballet. Except for the times when he gets caught, of course, at which point Kurt winces and pulls back, certain that the kids head will detach from his shoulders and go rolling across the field.

"That's kind of hot," Travis murmurs, and that's enough to snatch Kurt's attention away from the practice field. Because whoa – whoa – is the new guy actually gay?

"I don't like labels," Travis says, and Kurt realizes with a rush of shame that he had actually just said that out loud. He instantly begins to blush. "I say, be with who you love. Gender is a social construct, and sexuality is a spectrum."

Kurt just murmurs a little, not knowing exactly what he's saying. Normally he is strongly opposed to bisexuality – he's always firmly believed that bisexuality is the recourse of scared, gay boys who are afraid to embrace their true sexuality and would rather hide in the guise of still liking girls. But the whole philosophy fits this guy – his strange, bohemian attitude, the devil-may-care yet still dashing good looks. . .yeah, this guy, Kurt believes, is truly bisexual.

Or maybe pansexual. Kurt can see him as a fangbanger, too. Or a werebanger, if that's a thing.

There's a whistle from the field, and the boys begin trotting off. Travis stands up.

"Where are you going?"

Travis just peers down at him, a slight smile on his lips. "I'm gonna talk to the short hottie," he says. Kurt splutters a little.

"But. . .how do you even know that he's gay? Or bi? Or. . .whatever?"

"I don't know," Travis says, his grin widening almost predatorily. "But what's the worst that can happen?"

Kurt has plenty of ideas as to what could happen – the weres could throw him in a dumpster, or egg him, or freakin' eat him. He could become the new pariah even before school began, he could get into a fight, he could. . .

But no. He's walked over to the short kid, and they're laughing together. They're standing near the sidelines, close enough that Kurt can finally make out their features. The rest of the football players are looking them a little oddly, but no one's giving them a hard time.

And then Travis is reaching out and grabbing the new kid's hand, interlocking their fingers in an intimate way that Kurt has only _dreamed _about. And the new kid is smiling, a bright, charming smile that lightens up the already bright day. His hair is sweaty and plastered to his head, but the edges are curling, and his eyes are a sparkling hazel.

Oh, God. He's gay. They're both gay. He's no longer the only out teenager at Bon Temps, but is only one of three. There's finally a chance to him to walk down the halls holding hands with the guy he likes, finally a chance to slow dance at prom. Except that both of the new guys are heart-stoppingly beautiful, and have already found each other.

Kurt sighs and plops his chin into his propped hands. Yeah. . .his life sucks.

**A/N: Wah-wah-wah.**

**COMING SOON: Finn struggles with being kicked off the football team, Rachel decides to scope out the competition, and the vampires arrive at McKinley**


End file.
